


je vous aime à la folie

by Skyepilot



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Bobbi and her perfect hair that one one complains about, Coulson loves that Skye reinvents herself, Declarations Of Love, Eating, F/M, Fate, First Kiss, First Time, Flirting, Haircuts, Humor, Secret Relationship, Shopping, hair disasters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 15:12:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4484189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyepilot/pseuds/Skyepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haircut fic drabbles.  Skye has to cut her hair, and Coulson wants to saves the day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	je vous aime à la folie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RowboatCop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowboatCop/gifts).



He’s standing in the Lab, looking at Bobbi sitting on the gurney.

Simmons is fussing over her, her assistants around them, as Bobbi yanks her arm away from the needle prepped to go into her arm.

Her face is smudged with ashes, and Simmons is telling her that she’s dehydrated and needs fluids immediately.

He is checking on Bobbi. And not just Bobbi. He notices, immediately, that someone else is missing.

Missing for the last thirty minutes, to be exact, and Coulson meets Simmons’ eyes then asks Bobbi, which distracts her long enough for the needle to go in.

She mentions that the guy, the one with the powers, melted her hair. Plus, a few choice explicatives thrown in for good measure.

Coulson looks at her hair. Puzzled.

Bobbi's hair looks perfectly in place, despite the rest of her looking like she, literally, took a walk through Hades.

“Not mine,” she says loudly, rolling her eyes, finally managing to look at the needle in her arm, with a wince, then relaxing. “ _Sk_ -Daisy’s.”

She almost slipped and called her Skye. Like most of them still do during these close calls.

“ _Oh_ ,” he replies, quietly. 

He looks puzzled again as she stares at him, eyebrows at her forehead.

Should he be doing something about this? 

“Right,” he answers, turning to walk himself in the direction of her quarters.

  
#

 

She's not vain. She knows this.

Feels really confident about that, actually. 

This is just another change, like all the changes that have been pressing upon her like a tidal wave of _do-not-want-thanks-again-universe_.

She'd been thinking about it, of course. After all, she’s done bigger things before. Like changing her name.

Like cutting her hair after her training with May started. She felt like she needed some fresh armor.

Calling herself Daisy, because she wanted to keep a piece of her lost and not forgotten parents.

And then someone decided for her, tonight, and used their _grabby lava fingers_ to take that decision right out of her hands.

“Screw it,” she says, and takes the scissors and watches the chunk of hair fall to the sink.

It makes her tear up, though, and she hates that.

She wanted this to be her choice, not a joke like, “This is the reason Batman should never wear a cape”.

And Bobbi's hair was still bouncy and perfect. Why hadn't Lava Boy gone after her amazing hair? Bobbi may or may not have done a backflip to keep her hair.

It was glorious, not a liability, not armor. She was like a lioness that could toss her mane whenever someone dumb enough to cross her path didn’t realize it was a sign they were about to get the mauling of their life.

Dammit. She’s bitter again.

She drops the thought when she hears a soft tap on the door to her room, feeling guilty for wanting Bobbi to suffer her same fate.

That would've been nice, though. To laugh at each other’s ruined hair and commiserate over a few (okay, several) beers (and maybe a tequila shot)?

Instead, in the Quinjet, Bobbi had just looked at Skye and shook her golden mane, and promised, "That guy is going down."

That's when she knew it was real bad, even though the smell itself was enough to-

“Hi.”

She cracks the door and it's Coulson.

“Oh, good.”

She pulls the door open wider, then turns back to the bathroom as he follows her.

The door never clicks shut after him, which doesn't surprise her, of course.

He doesn't make his way down to their quarters often. This is him not wanting to be invading, or intrusive. And she knows she should’ve checked in with him, she just had to see the damage for herself first.

Kind of got caught up in the moment. What can she say?

She takes her spot again in front of the mirror as he hangs back in the bathroom doorway.

Lifting the scissors, taking in a deep breath she goes for the other side, to mirror the cut she just made moments before.

“Do you want some help?”

It comes out rushed. Shaky. It sounds like he either doesn't really want to help, or that he's really, _really_ afraid to.

But she's already had enough choices taken away from her.

“Yes,” she says, decisively.

Coming up behind her, he holds his metal hand out, palm up, a little coy expression on his face, like his confidence has returned with permission. 

She puts them in his hand, and he tilts his head, now in problem-solving mode, running his fingers down the choppy ends of the short side, to the tips.

Then he carefully puts his fingers on her chin, positioning her head, as he puts the scissors into his right hand and tries to get his newer hand to cooperate to hold the hair in place.

He makes a few tentative snips, watches the hair fall into the basin, then looks up to meet her eyes. Make sure she’s okay.

She feels a bit better now that someone else is doing it.

“So, you’ve done this before?” she says, warming up to this. He’s being so precise about it.

“Um, not really?”

 

#

 

“It's not that bad,” she says, looking over at him, tugging her fingers through the choppy ends of her hair as the wind blows it around her.

“I know,” he says. “But it's not what you wanted.”

“Not the first time that's happened, Coulson.”

Her reply has a bit of an edge to it, and he’s gracious enough not to take it personally.

Plus, it’s nice to see him driving Lola again. Even if the new hand is still a bit cumbersome.

“Yes,” he finally answers, with a charming smile. She remembers this smile.

“Can't you let me save the day for once?”

She knows he's joking. His face looks like mischief, though.

Before he’d left her in her room the night before, he said he had an idea, and that he’d come get her in the morning if she was agreeable.

This is some plan of his.

“Okay,” she says, sinking down into the seat a little, then changing her mind and leaning forward to turn on the radio.

Trying to find a song that suits the mood.

 

#

 

It’s a really nice place.

Even smells peaceful, and there’s no one else here.

Just her and the stylist, and of course, Coulson, sitting on the couch with his legs crossed, flipping through a magazine.

Trying to turn the pages delicately with his robot hand, like he shouldn’t be noticed. Maybe he’s just practicing, or maybe he’s liking this, too.

It’s so odd and yet she feels, for just a moment, the idea that someone rearranged the world for her, is perfectly…normal.

She’s just getting another haircut, that’s all.

This one is going to be great, though. Because she’s telling her exactly what she wants, and she seems like she can do it.

As she’s lead to the back to change and get her hair shampooed, she looks back at Coulson.

He gives her a small wave with his metal fingers.

 

#

 

She gets anxious again as they walk out the door.

Someone paid for this. And it wasn’t her. Not that this is bad.

He’s not telling her anything, of course, and she’s trying to not let this bother her, but it’s kind of overwhelming.

“Thank you,” she says, running her hands over her hair, feeling the length again, the shiny, smooth texture of it.

“You look amazing,” he tells her, for the fifth time.

She believed him the first time. Honestly.

“Look,” she starts. “Thanks for doing this. It was really nice.”

“She’s ex-SHIELD and she owes me a favor,” Coulson replies. “And I owe you…a lot.”

She lets out a little breath. “You don’t owe me, Coulson.”

“If it makes you feel better,” he said, leaning towards her. “She cuts Bobbi’s hair.”

She thinks about it, and tousles her hair a little. Her own little lion’s mane.

He watches the gesture, curious, peering back at her still wrestling with something.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Her chin jerks up as she looks at him, her eyes widened a bit.

She didn’t even say why, but he knows.

“Are you hungry?” he asks. “There’s a really good food truck nearby. I mean, I read about it being good. Turkish?”

He shrugs, waiting for her approval.

 

#

 

“When I was a kid, people would…buy me things,” she says, as she licks grilled chicken off her fingers. “I’d always get this really special feeling. Like _I_ was really special, and then it would just be gone. All of it.”

He looks really distressed at this. He’s not even eating, he’s forgotten.

Which is funny, because the food is really good. It’s got her talking.

“Which is why this is hard for me,” she continues. “And I’m so sorry. I don’t want to seem ungrateful.”

“You, are never an afterthought to me.”

“I know,” she concedes, looking at his very serious expression. She does know this. But there’s a practical part of it, too.

“And you're the Director. Even though you do care,” she said, meeting his eyes briefly. “I know you have to-”

“You've been the first thing in my thoughts. Even as…“

He tries to pull himself together. “You kept me going. When I didn't know what I was, when SHIELD fell, rebuilding it, my carving...”

She’s at a loss for words. Is this pouring out of him because she shared about her childhood?

“It was you.”

This is probably the first time she’s ever wanted to kiss someone so badly, without knowing she wanted to kiss them just moments before. She has thought about kissing him, of course, but as a fantasy, something that didn't seem possible.

And she doesn’t want to get chicken grease on his suit pants.

But then again, she’s feeling a bit selfish today. There’s this feeling inside of her. Like it’s the right time.

Right now.

Her fingers are on his knee and she’s leaning across him to press her mouth against his.

He makes a tiny, stunned noise and then he’s leaning into her, his hand on the middle of her back to draw her in closer.

Kissing her like he’s been waiting his whole life for this.

She doesn’t think she’s ever had a kiss like that.

 

  
#

 

“Are we having fun?”

He jokes as they make their way back to Lola.

“Is that what this is?” he asks, teasingly.

She realizes that's what feels so different about today.

Coulson is having fun. He seems lighter. Happy.

“Yes,” she says, bumping her shoulder against his as they walk along the sidewalk.

But he slows it down, not ready to get there too soon. He puts his hands in the pockets of his slacks and looks in the windows of the shops, starting and stopping at whatever thing catches his eye, as he steals glances at her.

They’ve halted in front of a window and there is something about the tilt of her head that makes him look more closely.

He follows her eyes and sees them looking at a jacket in the window.

She smiles back at him and doesn’t say anything, but pushes open the door of the shop and he follows her inside.

It’s not like the other jackets she’s worn. It’s a suit jacket. A nice one. With long, sleek lapels. Very businesslike.

And it’s black.

Somehow, when she puts it on, turns to look at herself in the mirror, she has taken something from the jacket, instead.

She doesn’t look like she belongs to anything except for herself, standing there in her white tank top and jeans. It makes him both admire her, and a bit jealous, thinking of his own company suits.

The only person in the shop is keeping their distance, eyeing them cautiously.

At first he wonders if it’s the hand, but it’s been in his pocket the whole time, safely out of sight.

It must be that they make a funny pair. That the idea of them seeming normal, no matter how much they would like that to be the case, doesn’t exactly work.

So she slips off the jacket and approaches them instead, being overly-friendly and disarming them in her way, and soon she’s back and slipping the jacket on, pushing the receipt for it in the pocket.

Then she smiles at him again and pushes the door open to leave.

And he follows.

 

#

 

“I'm going to ruin your new haircut,” he says, pausing the moment before his fingers entwine themselves in her smooth, shiny hair.

This is not the kind of thing he would normally do. Taking his subordinate to a motel in the middle of the day.

Totally against protocol, as was propositioning her in public. Just before they made it back to Lola.

Because, then it might’ve been too late. For some reason, he feels that this could happen. That they’ve found each other in another way, yet again.

“No, you won’t,” she says, pushing him down against the bed. “I got _exactly_ what I wanted.”

She moves over him, and he can’t decide where he wants to touch her first, and goes with his first instinct, lets his fingers slip through her hair, and then kisses her.

She’s fine with the hair, but she really didn’t want to wrinkle that new jacket.

Then his other hand settles on her hip, carefully, waiting to see if she has some reaction to his prosthetic hand, if she minds it, then slips it beneath the bottom of the white tank top.

Her only objection is that he’s hesitant, so she tries to make up for it, tugging the tail of his shirt free from his belt, and getting her hand underneath his t-shirt, pressing her warm fingers against his skin, as he gives a gasp at the touch and then feels her teeth tugging on his bottom lip.

“What did you say on the street?” she asks, smiling against his ear, pulling back as he reaches to kiss her again.

It was French. He was trying to be smooth, leaning forward and whispering into her ear like that.

“I said, I’m madly in love with you,” he answered, drawing his fingers down the nape of her neck, then resting them on the side of her face.

Feeling suddenly very exposed. He might even be blushing.

“That’s what I thought,” she says, tracing her finger across his mouth, kisses him again, and her hand ventures further up between his shirts.

More slowly this time.

 

#

 

“Love the new haircut.”

“Thanks.”

“New sexy spy hair,” Hunter says, at her tousled hair. “Getting into lots of trouble, I hope.”

“Always.”

Bobbi smiles, but looks suspicious around the eyes, picking out details between the two of them.

Her perfectly too messy hair. Coulson’s wrinkled suit pants. That jacket with the sleeves pushed up a little to the elbows.

And they’re not exactly chatty people, but she’s using single-word replies. Trying to speed things up.

Bobbi narrows her eyes and Coulson gives her a very innocent look, and then glances at _Sk_ -Daisy for a moment and quietly continues past them to head up the stairs to his office.

They listen to his feet on the steps until they’re gone.

“Coulson’s a real thoughtful guy,” Bobbi says.

“Yeah.”

Hunter is staring between the two of them, trying to figure out what is happening he’s obviously unawares of.

“Oh, my!” Simmons appears in the archway and stares over at her, then smiles broadly. “Fantastic!”

She steps closer and looks over the total picture of her, putting her hand on the fabric of the jacket as she smiles back.

“Quite dashing,” Simmons says, with a conspiratorial whisper. “Agent Johnson.”

“Double 0 Johnson?” Hunter jokes.

She answers back at him by folding her arms.

Simmons gets dutifully back on task, and she takes the moment to slip out of the room, heading down the hall towards her quarters.

“I could use a haircut,” Simmons sighs to herself aloud.

“Just a haircut?” Bobbi asks flatly, locking eyes with Hunter.

Hunter rolls his in reply, but hides a little smile.

Not as dense as he lets on. Hunter did spend a lot of time with Coulson when they were looking for _Sk_ -Daisy, after all.

“And a new jacket,” Simmons says agreeably, with a nod, carrying the file with her out into the hallway.

“C’mon, Bobs,” Hunter says, giving her a nudge. “Some things are better left to mystery.”

They leave just as the music drifts down from the record player in Coulson’s office.

 


End file.
